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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068946">the butterfly, the hurricane</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory'>thinkatory</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stoker (2013)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Pairings Referenced, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, Hair stroking, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Post-Canon, Pseudo-Incest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:02:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,491</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>India's eyes are trained on Evelyn's face. "It's complicated," she says, and glances into her wine as she drinks. Evelyn doesn't interrupt, with every expectation that India is ready to go on. This is her moment, and will be until she chooses to unlock that door.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Evelyn's eyes flutter shut for a moment as the mess of emotion spills over her. Complicated indeed. Then India speaks. "I thought you shouldn't get away with everything, with no punishment," she says. "Then I wondered, Evelyn: did you suffer?"</i></p><p>  <i><b>Evelyn.</b> She draws in a breath to restrain looking too wounded at that. "Yes," she says softly.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evelyn Stoker/India Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Limited Theatrical Release 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the butterfly, the hurricane</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/gifts">summerdayghost</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I will admit this could've been a deeper dive, but I chose to go with subtler than hammering you over the head with the whole thing.</p><p>I can't believe I'm the first person to write Evelyn/India? It wasn't a canonical. What a shame.</p><p>All my thanks to ictus for a lovely betaing job.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Qui sème le vent, récolte la tempête.</i><br/>
<i>"He who sows the wind, will reap the whirlwind."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>India dresses differently now, and does her hair and makeup to perfection in a way that has to make her occasionally vain mother proud, but Evelyn will always know her daughter. Always, forever.</p><p>It's been twelve years since Charlie's death, which is her preferred way to frame everything that happened. One would expect that she would think of things as Before Richard's Death and After Richard's Death, but even losing a husband, estranged from her as he was, was not quite the monstrous event of that night in the bedroom she'd once shared with Richard and hoped to share with Charlie.</p><p>Maybe withdrawing to Paris was too obvious a move, Evelyn thinks, as she stares through the glass of the front door at her daughter on the other side. Even though she lives on the outskirts of the city, it wouldn't be impossible for someone as clever as India to know what dreams Evelyn would chase across the Atlantic, and to track her down.</p><p>"Open the door." India offers a small smile. "Please," she adds, dutifully.</p><p>Evelyn has no choice. She opens the door with a smile and takes a step back to allow her daughter into her home. "Welcome," she offers, ever the hostess, and balks only for a moment. "It's been some time."</p><p>"Hasn't it?" India's smile broadens briefly. She draws the door shut behind her, and flicks the lock shut with a deliberate gesture. "It's good to see you."</p><p>"Is it?" Evelyn murmurs, and watches India, her mind scattered to pieces in emotion – the knowledge of the locked door mere feet away, the steady look in India's eyes, and the terrible, terrible desire to touch her despite it. "Did you want something to drink?"</p><p>"Yes," India decides, and tucks her hands behind her as she follows Evelyn into the house. The kitchen isn't too far, nor large enough to keep them from being a short distance from each other as Evelyn pours them both a glass of wine.</p><p>The image of Charlie sipping wine, talking about tannins, hovers between them. Evelyn knows this, and it tightens her throat, most especially when she looks at India across the way, who wears some mild satisfaction on her face.</p><p>"What brings you here?" Evelyn asks, conversational as she can manage.</p><p>India swirls her wine thoughtfully. "I thought about you," she says.</p><p>Even that little bit is more than Evelyn was expecting. "What did you think?" She keeps her tone cool, but it's still desperate, foolish.</p><p>India's eyes are trained on Evelyn's face. "It's complicated." She glances into her wine as she drinks. Evelyn doesn't interrupt, with every expectation that India is ready to go on. This is her moment, and will be until she chooses to unlock that door.</p><p>Evelyn's eyes flutter shut for a moment as the mess of emotion spills over her. Complicated indeed. Then India speaks. "I thought you shouldn't get away with everything, with no punishment," she says. "Then I wondered, Evelyn: did you suffer?"</p><p><i>Evelyn.</i> She draws in a breath to restrain looking too wounded at that. "Yes," she says softly.</p><p>"I haven't." Evelyn's gaze shoots up to India as the words leave her mouth. India smiles, goes on. "I get what I want, now. No one guilts me, no one controls me."</p><p>Evelyn's smile is brittle as she holds India's gaze. "Are you sure about that?"</p><p>India moves closer to her, and Evelyn stays perfectly still. "What do you mean by that?"</p><p>"He's still in your head." Evelyn stares into her wine. "Everything you do is because of what he did. To all of us."</p><p>"I thought about that, too," India muses, and her fingers cross the distance between her and Evelyn, drifting into her mother's hair. Evelyn's eyes close. "But if he had won, he wouldn't be dead." Her hand gently teases in Evelyn's hair. "I made my decision."</p><p>Evelyn makes herself speak. "Does the water choose to ripple when you throw a stone into it, India?"</p><p>"I'm not water." India's fingers are in the hair at the nape of Evelyn's neck, now, and they tighten just enough. Evelyn freezes completely. "Do you want to know where I've been?"</p><p>"Tell me whatever you like, India." Then, the truth: "I've missed you."</p><p>India's laugh is a bit hollow. "Have you?"</p><p>"Yes." Evelyn's throat catches. "You're still my daughter."</p><p>"I saw how you looked at me." India's voice is only just loud enough to hear. "You thought I was a monster."</p><p>"You saved my life," Evelyn murmurs.</p><p>India breathes out slowly; Evelyn can feel it, soft on her shoulder. "I saved my own."</p><p>"You don't need to pretend." Evelyn firms her voice a little. "It's only us."</p><p>India's tone cools, but there are nerves there. "Why would I save you?"</p><p>"I'm your mother." Evelyn aches, so much. "Despite everything, that means... that meant something. Didn't it?" Before India can speak, she goes on, determined: "Charlie tried to break us apart. If he hadn't been there, the memory of your father, we might have – "</p><p>"But you brought him in." India's voice is icy, now. "It was your choice."</p><p>"I didn't know," Evelyn whispers. "India."</p><p>India's not finished. "If you could have resisted a handsome, charming man – "</p><p>"<i>India</i> – "</p><p>India toys with the hair at the back of her neck, now. "But you've always been weak," she pronounces. "What would you have been, without Dad?"</p><p>Evelyn can't fall apart right now. "What would <i>you</i> have been without him?" she bites out.</p><p>"Even worse," India says, soft. She moves close to Evelyn to set her empty wineglass on the counter, then draws Evelyn close to her with a hand on the small of her back. The closeness is more than Evelyn can bear, and she steels herself for whatever is about to happen, but all India does is say, "I want you to know what you've done."</p><p>Evelyn can't help the anger that flares in her. "What did I do?" she demands, soft still.</p><p>"Everything I've done since that day," India whispers, "every monstrous thing, is your fault. Every last thing."</p><p>"I thought you made your decision," Evelyn snaps off. "I thought no one controls you."</p><p>"You don't control me," India retorts. "You were a butterfly. I am the hurricane."</p><p>Evelyn seizes India by the shoulder and pushes her away, even a few inches. "Don't you threaten me," she warns.</p><p>India seizes her closer again with light enough pressure, and Evelyn's gaze is drawn helplessly to the way India's tongue slips between her lips, a thoughtful motion; she stills as India moves past the inches between them, desperate to know her daughter's destination, but India presses a brief kiss to her forehead instead. She feels, somehow, cold. "Mom," she says, and she sounds young again, younger than she has ever sounded, maybe, "I know what I am."</p><p>"And what are you?" Evelyn whispers.</p><p>"I'm the better version of you." India breathes softly into her hair, shaky. "Isn't that what you're supposed to want?"</p><p>Evelyn wonders, even for a flash, if she's right. India is decisive, sharp as broken glass, and powerful. What is she? "I didn't want this to happen to you," she says, barely audible.</p><p>"Don't lie to me." India's voice is steady. "You wanted me to hurt."</p><p>Evelyn tenses. "Not until you – "</p><p>India shakes her head, frustrated. "Not until I was his <i>victim</i>?"</p><p>Evelyn doesn't know what to say to that. "You were grown." Even now she can keep her voice cool.</p><p>"I was eighteen, Mom, I wasn't in my forties swooning over my dead husband's brother." They're still so close despite the snappishness, still so soft with each other. India's breaths are choppier against Evelyn's chest than one would expect from the girl's supposed calm, and Evelyn aches to soothe her, to make her melt against the warmth of her mother the way Evelyn can't help but melt against hers. She wants her fingertips over what little bare skin India reveals, just to make her daughter feel something with what little contact she can manage; it's only forbidden because India hasn't said so. "This isn't the point. I wanted you to know." There's barely time for her to respond before India cuts in again. "Thank you."</p><p>It freezes her blood in her veins. "India," she manages.</p><p>Then India's moving away, drifting out of the kitchen. "That's all," she says without looking back.</p><p>Evelyn moves after her, not done with this in the least. "India," she warns.</p><p>India gives a one-shoulder shrug without glancing back to her mother, unlocks the door, and disappears into the night once she's out of the view of the old porchlight. Evelyn remains frozen. </p><p>She can still feel India's arms around her, her daughter's fingers gentle in her hair, if she closes her eyes.</p><p>Too long after, she makes herself close the door. India isn't coming back.</p>
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